Monday, 27 August 2012


Sometimes the words boil within me and seek their escape, the release in itself bringing release from the blight. The following is a such a release and relief followed...
A rancid void
The very rift
Of twisting reality
As darkened embers
Of searing emptiness
Boil in a cataclysmic
Tumult of tortured

The distance marked
By the bodies
Of fallen hopes
Whilst withered husks
Of broken dreams
Mark the tortured path
To the foothills of

As the dark of
False light leaks
And spreads with
Malignant temerity
Absorbing and feeding
On the final notes
Of benign hope, leaving:

Yet slumber falters
For a single sprout
Of green joy
As it struggles
Awake, raising
Its voice in a deafening
Roar of defiant

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